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<h1><a href="https://archiveofourown.org/works/29770029">carry me out</a> by <a class='authorlink' href='https://archiveofourown.org/users/joshuamericano/pseuds/joshuamericano'>joshuamericano</a></h1>

<table class="full">

<tr><td><b>Category:</b></td><td>Haikyuu!!</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Genre:</b></td><td>Flashbacks, Fluff, Hurt/Comfort, Injury, Intense Yearning, M/M, Mild Blood, Mild Language, and ur crush from middle school, going on a nice cycling trip with ur friends</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Language:</b></td><td>English</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Status:</b></td><td>Completed</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Published:</b></td><td>2021-03-01</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Updated:</b></td><td>2021-03-01</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Packaged:</b></td><td>2021-05-16 00:56:00</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Rating:</b></td><td>Teen And Up Audiences</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Warnings:</b></td><td>Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Chapters:</b></td><td>1</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Words:</b></td><td>3,576</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Publisher:</b></td><td>archiveofourown.org</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Story URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/works/29770029</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Author URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/users/joshuamericano/pseuds/joshuamericano</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Summary:</b></td><td><div class="userstuff">
              <p>Maybe Wakatoshi is a small favor from the stars.</p><p>Around him, Kiyoomi can breathe easy.</p>
            </div></td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Relationships:</b></td><td>Sakusa Kiyoomi/Ushijima Wakatoshi</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Comments:</b></td><td>3</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Kudos:</b></td><td>29</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Collections:</b></td><td>Haikyuu Writer Jukebox Round One - Mitski</td></tr>

</table>

<a name="section0001"><h2>carry me out</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Author's Note:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
      <p>inspired by mitski's "carry me out"</p>
    </blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>This is all Shouyou’s fault. Kiyoomi’s going to tell himself that until he’s convinced of it, until he’s back in his apartment and sitting in bed, sheet mask and warm bathrobe on, being bothered by nobody. </p><p>It has nothing to do with Shouyou’s actions, and <em> everything </em>to do with his plans. Kiyoomi overheard conversations between him and their other teammates in the past month or so, about how Shouyou wants to go on his evening bike rides now that it’s spring, but he doesn’t enjoy going alone like he used to.</p><p>Some teammates have joined him before. Kiyoomi specifically recalls Atsumu collapsing on the floor of their tiny kitchen apartment after a three hour ride with Shouyou, who did not seem the least bit winded afterwards. </p><p>“Shouyou is—<em>guh </em> —” Atsumu’s trying to catch his breath between pauses in his words, “he’s—he’s <em> really fast</em>. I—<em>hhh</em>—I thought it would never end.” </p><p>That’s Shouyou for you, Kiyoomi thinks. All drive and energy, little direction. </p><p>Kiyoomi forgets this until Shouyou tells him and Atsumu that Shugo wants to join him, and it gives him the bright idea of inviting the whole team for a bike ride under the stars. Something like that. Like this is a gondola ride in Italy, and not a bunch of dudes about to sweat buckets and get dirt on their legs trying to keep up with their newest wing spiker. </p><p>“You should join us, Omi-san.” Shouyou stares expectantly at him, smiling like a kid. </p><p>“Please let me brush my teeth in peace.” Kiyoomi’s words are incomprehensible through the mouthful of toothpaste, but he figures he got the general point across. He’s deeply perturbed by the presence of Shouyou at the entryway to their bathroom like a gate blocking his escape. </p><p>“Y’know,” Shouyou’s grin only gets wider, “it’s a good thing I also invited my <em>good friend</em>, Kageyama-kun, to join us too.”</p><p>“Good for him.” Kiyoomi spits out his toothpaste, rinses his mouth as thoroughly as humanly possible. </p><p>“<em>Aaaaaaaand </em> Ushiwaka’s supposed to join us too. Since, y’know, he and Kageyama are roommates and all.” </p><p>Kiyoomi nearly chokes on his rinse, gives Shouyou a knife-sharp glare. <em> He wouldn’t</em>. Just the thought, the <em> mention</em>, of Wakatoshi already makes his ears flush red. It’s humiliating. </p><p>“You did this on purpose.” Kiyoomi says. </p><p>Shouyou’s eyes widened at such an accusation. “I just wanted to let you know!” He says, and Kiyoomi can’t tell if he’s feigning innocence or not. “You guys are good friends, so I thought you’d feel more comfortable if he was joining us too.”</p><p>So he <em>did </em>invite him intentionally. Kiyoomi would be pissed off if he weren’t unnerved by how much Shouyou’s been paying attention. What would <em>he, </em>of all people, know about maintaining an ambiguous companionship with your volleyball rival, over whom you’ve been quietly yearning since middle school?</p><p>And yet. </p><p>“I’ll go.” Kiyoomi says, quickly wiping the sink. “Just please, stop staring at me like <em> that</em>.” </p><p>“Like <em> what</em>?” Shouyou tilts his head, still staring.</p><p>“Like however you’re staring at me right now.” He says. “Is anybody else going?” </p><p>“Hoshiumi might be there. But everybody else on the Adlers is busy, so it’s just three of them.” </p><p>Kiyoomi holds back from letting out the world’s heaviest sigh. “I’ll be there.”</p><p>In hindsight, Kiyoomi could have just said no, stayed home, and literally nobody would have protested. For all their teasing and poking, there’s at least a base level respect for his space and time. Instead, he’s at the bike rental center, trying to hear the employee over his team’s collective excitement, while Shugo is doing his very best to control them. Kiyoomi wonders to himself why he agreed to this. </p><p>“Kiyoomi-san.” A hand on his shoulder, gently placed. A familiar weight. “It’s been awhile.”</p><p><em> Ah. That’s why. </em>Kiyoomi mentally prepares himself to turn and see Wakatoshi, with the same haircut he’s had since middle school, his face stoic as ever except for the eyes. His eyes have softened over time. They’re starting to crinkle delicately at the corners in a way that makes Kiyoomi’s abdomen burn. </p><p>“Wakatoshi-kun.” Kiyoomi says. “Hello.” In his head, he’s both observing every detail of Wakatoshi’s face up close and screaming curses at Shouyou for subjecting him to this in the first place. </p><p>“It’s nice to see you here.” Wakatoshi says. “Do you usually join Hinata-san when he goes cycling?” </p><p>Kiyoomi shakes his head. “No. But he’s wanted the team to join him for ages now. He hasn’t gone a day without talking about it for the past month.”</p><p>“I see.” Wakatoshi says. “This must be very important to him, then. Especially to have you joining him as well.”</p><p>Kiyoomi’s fist clenches. There it is. The tight, oppressive squeeze of fondness that never fizzled like middle school crushes are supposed to. He hopes it doesn’t show on his face, with Wakatoshi so attentive to him. He’s never been good at hiding how he feels—some part of his expression betrays him, gives him away at some point. </p><p>“I wouldn’t have come,” Kiyoomi says, “if I didn’t think I was gonna enjoy it.” </p><p>“Are you two ready to head out?” </p><p>Shugo’s standing in front of them, not totally looking at them, probably still trying to keep an eye on the rest of the group. Kiyoomi grits his teeth and tries not to curse through his breath. Wakatoshi simply nods, releases his hand from Kiyoomi’s shoulder, and joins everyone else leaving the building. Kiyoomi lingers for a moment, watching his back as he leaves before joining everyone. </p><p>The ground crunches under Kiyoomi’s neon sneakers and the tires of his rented bike as he trails a few steps behind everyone else. Atsumu falls back to walk beside him, says something about <em> y’know, I thought you were just gonna hop onto Ushiwaka’s handlebars and take the trail that way </em>before Kiyoomi jabs him in the rib with his elbow. </p><p>“You think you’re being subtle?” Atsumu taunts. “Think nobody can see you making heart eyes at him?”</p><p>“Do I care?” Kiyoomi says. “Mind your business, Miya-san.”</p><p>Atsumu laughs at him. It pisses Kiyoomi off, the way he can be so lighthearted at the worst times. “Oh Omi-kun, you prickly sea urchin!” </p><p>Kiyoomi sighs heavily, paying no mind to Atsumu smacking his shoulders, eyes only on Wakatoshi’s back. He’s talking to Tobio, but they’re both too quiet to really hear them. Kiyoomi stops for a moment and thinks about the worst thing. </p><p>
  <em> Does Wakatoshi-kun think I’m prickly, too? </em>
</p><p>It sends a violent, visceral shiver throughout his whole body that he can’t blame on the wind. He tries to shake off the thought, the feeling overtaking him. It balls up in his chest, drops into his stomach, weighs him down. </p><p>“<em>I</em><em> bet I could beat you to the end of the trail! </em>”</p><p>“<em>Not a chance, Kourai-kun! I know this trail like the back of my hand! </em>”</p><p>Shouyou and Kourai’s shouting breaks Kiyoomi’s train of thought. They’re already on their bikes, racing each other over the first small hill on the trail. Shugo hops on his bicycle and follows them, calling out something about staying with the group. Tobio loudly curses at Shouyou and bolts at the speed of light. Wakatoshi follows suit, then Atsumu, who shoots a sly grin back at Kiyoomi.  </p><p>As he gets on his bike, Kiyoomi reminds himself of the sweet, sweet peace and quiet he’ll have at his apartment while everyone else has passed out after cycling the trail. Cold wind rushes across his face, gets in his eyes. It doesn’t take long for him to catch up with everybody else before the first bend in the path. He doesn’t bother tuning in to the conversations going on around him. He thinks only the horizon past the trees, the pavement under his tires, the increasing burn in his thighs.   </p><p>And Wakatoshi. </p><p>Kiyoomi’s still a little bit behind him, staring at the movement in his shoulders and upper back. Around this bend, at his pace, he glides like an eagle in flight. Like he was made for the skies to carry him. It’s hard, even for Kiyoomi, not to be a little captivated by the way he moves. Effortless, smooth, floating.</p><p>The group quiets down further along the path. There’s serenity in the simultaneous stillness of the night and movement from spinning wheels, pushing pedals, slowing strides around tighter corners. Tree branches bend over the path like a forest cave with enough of an opening to see the sky, clouds already burnt orange from the sun setting ahead of them. Birds and bugs chirp in an irregular melody. </p><p>It’s kind of beautiful. </p><p>“Hey guys!” Shouyou calls out loud enough for Kiyoomi to hear with perfect clarity. “There’s a kinda tall hill coming up. Just be careful on the way down!” </p><p>Kiyoomi turns the corner, sees the aforementioned hill. It’s tall enough to cover up the horizon, conceal the sunset that was so clear ahead of him before. There’s little momentum on his way up, so he gets off his bike and walks up to the peak.</p><p>For half a second, Kiyoomi contemplates walking the rest of the way down. The hill doesn’t seem <em> that </em> steep, couldn’t take him <em> that </em>fast to where he would lose control. It’s fine. He’ll be fine. </p><p><em> I’ll just be careful. </em> He thinks. <em> Like Hinata-san said.  </em></p><p>He gulps hard, gets back on his bicycle and starts his downhill descent. Tightens his grip around the handlebars. He’s careful, watching. </p><p>He’s watching, watching, watching—</p><p>The bicycle dips into a barely-visible crack in the road, sending Kiyoomi’s bike into the air where it makes an unsteady landing. The front twists too hard to the left, and one of the handlebars jabs Kiyoomi below his sternum before he falls off the bike. He’s a mess of long limbs and dirt and gravel tumbling down the hill. Earth spins around him, for a moment, with no consideration for his stability. </p><p>When he’s stopped, Kiyoomi pushes himself onto his back, stares up at the sky. His chest heaves, arms and hands trembling as he actively attempts not to hyperventilate. The pain from the scrapes on his skin, new wounds, consumes him. Make him feel like a crumpled pile of person on the side of the road. </p><p>Kiyoomi blinks away the bleariness in his eyes, tries to position himself upright. It only makes the pain in his body much more apparent. His gasps for air are guttural and raspy.  </p><p>“God dammit, ouch—<em>shit— </em>” Kiyoomi fumbles onto his feet, stabilizing himself as best as he can in the most shaky, unsteady form. The tender spot between his ribs is in screaming-hot pain from where the handlebar jabbed him. He shakes dirt and small rocks off his hands—thank God he thought to wear gloves, though they sting a little from falling. The ground underneath him keeps shifting, won’t let him stand still. </p><p><em> I could have stayed home, </em> he thinks, in a dizzy fervor. <em> I could have stayed home, and I could have stayed home. </em>He widens his stance, finds a little stillness as he stands upright. Most of everyone else has passed him, he presumes, since he can’t see them. Can barely hear them. His bicycle lies pitifully in the middle of the road, thankfully not damaged. </p><p>Kiyoomi checks himself for any other damage done. His knee is scraped raw, blood pooling and starting to drip down his calf. He recoils a little inside, seeing it. Part of his forearm is also scraped, yet not nearly as bad as his leg. A little blood catches on his fingers while he tries to dust himself off and gets on his clothes. He wishes he could unzip himself from his own skin out of pure repulsion. </p><p>The first-aid kit he brought along is still attached to the bicycle somehow. There’s some gauze and bandages in there, a few alcohol pads, some ibuprofen. Kiyoomi doesn’t have it in himself or his tired, sore legs to walk all the way over to his bicycle and retrieve it. </p><p>Kiyoomi cranes his neck up to the sky, deep indigo as it breaks into twilight. </p><p>A lone star glimmers directly above his head.</p><p>He softens his gaze, whispers to himself so <em> quiet</em>. Like the trees might hear him if he’s too loud, might pass his words along through the leaves in the wind. </p>
<hr/><p>Motoya told him about wishes, back when they were little kids standing barefoot on the front lawn of Kiyoomi’s house in the summer. He pointed to the sky at one lone, bright star, surrounded by pink and red clouds mellowing into a dark blue dome. </p><p>“If you see the first star in the sky,” Motoya said, “you can make a wish on it, and it might come true!” </p><p>“That sounds ridiculous.” Kiyoomi said, deadpan. </p><p>Motoya laughed a little too close to Kiyoomi’s face. “I thought you might say that! That’s why <em> I </em> made my wish already. If <em> you </em>wanna make a wish, you’ll have to wait another night.”</p><p>“Is that how that works?” Kiyoomi tilted his head, his curls swaying away from his eyes. “How do you know the stars can hear you? Or if they care about your wishes?” </p><p>Motoya shrugged. “You’ll have to ask the stars yourself sometime.” </p><p>They stopped talking for a while. They sat in the grass, little green blades prickly and cold on their legs, and they could hear their families’ collective conversation and laughter from inside. Someone will probably call them in after a few minutes. The rest of the stars poke through the night sky, glimmered like broken edges of a mirror. </p><p>“Y’know,” Motoya said, his hands propping up his head, “even if the stars can’t hear us, I still wanna believe that they can. If my wish comes true, I’ll know something or someone can see me. Like they’re watching out for me, and making sure I’m okay. I won’t have to worry too much.”</p><p>Kiyoomi could never wrap his mind around this concept. Not until he met Wakatoshi at a middle school training camp. Not until he tried to lift Wakatoshi’s spike for the first time, and it bounced off his arm and flew straight out of the court. His arms stung from the contact. But he smiled, wider than he’d ever smiled about anything. He couldn’t recall the last time he enjoyed a practice game <em> that </em> much, and back then, he couldn’t place why.</p><p>Maybe Wakatoshi is a small favor from the stars. A subtle reminder that he doesn’t have to worry in his presence. He can release the tension in his shoulders, the grit in his jaw, let go of the anticipation of disgust rising out of him, just from the virtue of Wakatoshi being wholly himself. </p><p>Around Wakatoshi, Kiyoomi can breathe easy.     </p>
<hr/><p>“Kiyoomi-san.”</p><p>Wakatoshi’s voice pulls Kiyoomi out of his stargazing trance. He’s standing in front of him, wheeling his bicycle alongside him, stopping to prop it up. His face is somewhat obscured by the darkness, but Kiyoomi can make out his features, his strong build, his face. His eyes, soft and crinkled in the corners. It makes Kiyoomi want to melt into a puddle on the ground. </p><p>“Wakatoshi-kun.” He says, voice strained, a sound so foreign to himself. “Uh, I-”</p><p>“I noticed we lost you somewhere on the path.” Wakatoshi says. “I wanted to make sure you were okay.”</p><p>Of course he did. Goddamn, <em> of course he did </em>. It occurs to Kiyoomi that he doesn’t remember how long ago he crashed, or how long he’s been staring at a lone star in the sky, now a small cluster with evening creeping up on them. Wakatoshi approaches him, and Kiyoomi steps back with his scraped leg out of reflex. He’s given a harsh reminder of just how much pain he’s in. </p><p>“Kiyoomi-san, your leg.” </p><p>“I have my first aid kit in my-” </p><p>Wakatoshi pulls out his own first-aid kit.</p><p>“Right.” Kiyoomi says. “You brought one too.”      </p><p>“You should sit,” Wakatoshi says, unzipping his first aid kit. Kiyoomi seats himself beside the road while Wakatoshi pulls out some alcohol pads and bandages, crouches down to Kiyoomi’s level.</p><p>Kiyoomi extends his injured leg, his breathing shaky from the ripples of pain. Wakatoshi takes out an alcohol pad, places a reassuring hand under Kiyoomi’s calf, and gently wipes the scrape on his knee. The alcohol sting against raw skin makes Kiyoomi hiss fiercely. </p><p>“Is that too much?” Wakatoshi asks.  </p><p>“No, no.” Kiyoomi shakes his head, bites the inside of his lip. “It’s working. It’s just gonna—<em>hhh</em>—gonna sting for a minute.” </p><p>Wakatoshi nods, continues to wipe away the blood. Kiyoomi feels weird watching Wakatoshi as he wipes up his knee and applies a broad band aid with unbroken concentration, but he’s not sure where else to look. He simply must sit here, must be a witness to Wakatoshi tending his wounds. </p><p>His presence makes the pain a little easier to bear. </p><p>“Are you hurt anywhere else?” Wakatoshi says. Kiyoomi’s focusing on his eyes again, his disarming gaze. He internally curses himself for how hot and clammy his hands feel. Maybe it’s the gloves. He can blame it on the gloves, right? </p><p>“Just a scratch on my arm,” Kiyoomi says, “but it’s not as bad.” </p><p>This time, Kiyoomi puts the band-aid on himself, but Wakatoshi’s still watching him, attentive as ever. He wonders what Wakatoshi’s thinking of Kiyoomi now, all scratched up with some bruises surfacing. Wonder if he’s as grimy, filthy, sharp to the touch as he feels experiencing himself.</p><p>“Are you going to be okay?” Wakatoshi whispers, deep and low. </p><p>Kiyoomi nods. “I should be. But it still hurts.” </p><p>Wakatoshi finds Kiyoomi’s hand, uncurls all the tension knit into his fingers, and presses his thumb into his palm. “I can hold your hand until the pain eases.” </p><p>Everything inside of Kiyoomi is burning hot. He can’t tell if it’s the injuries, his own perspiration from cycling, or Wakatoshi. </p><p>“Sure.” Kiyoomi says. </p><p>They sit in silence for a while, taking in the evening’s ambiance of bugs and bird calls. More and more stars form in the sky over their heads. A small audience of celestial bodies stand by in Wakatoshi and Kiyoomi’s shared, comfortable quiet. There’s security in Wakatoshi’s hand, his thumb stroking Kiyoomi’s palm. A light breeze brushes past them, carries the scent of light spring flowers blooming along the path. </p><p>“I told everyone else I was going to check on you,” Wakatoshi says, “so it shouldn’t be long before they join us. Do you want me to help you up?” </p><p>“No, I can—” Kiyoomi tries to push himself off the ground with his arms and falls back onto his seat. <em> God, how humiliating, </em> he thinks. “Never mind. Please help me up.” </p><p>Wakatoshi hoists him up and wraps an arm around his waist for stability. That’s what Kiyoomi assumes, anyway, repressing the fluttering in his stomach from the proximity to Wakatoshi, his strength holding up most of his weight. </p><p>“I can stand on my own.” Kiyoomi says. “Don’t feel like you have to help me the whole way back.”</p><p>Wakatoshi pauses for a moment. “Is that okay if I do anyways?”</p><p>“<em>Omi-san! </em>Are you alright?”</p><p>Wakatoshi and Kiyoomi both turn their heads and see the rest of the group approaching them, with Shouyou leading them. Some of them are walking with their bikes beside them. Shouyou is still on his bike, screeching to a stop when he sees Kiyoomi. </p><p>“Hey there! Is everything oka—” Shouyou’s cheery disposition is cut short when his eyes drift to Kiyoomi’s leg, the bandage on his knee, the parts of his scrape that it couldn’t cover. His smile falls, and he looks somber. </p><p>“You...you got hurt.” </p><p>It breaks Kiyoomi’s heart, just a little. After all, Shouyou <em>did </em>invite one of his closest companions to come along, just to ensure that he’d have fun.</p><p>But Kiyoomi would never say that out loud.   </p><p>“I’ll be okay.” Kiyoomi rests his weight on Wakatoshi, hoping it’s not obvious. </p><p>“Is there any way I can—”</p><p>“Hey, Omi-kun’s bike is still over there.” Kourai pops up behind Shouyou, points to Kiyoomi’s bike in the middle of the road. “We can bring that back to the rental center.” </p><p>“Right.” Shouyou says. “We can do that.” </p><p>Kiyoomi sighs. “Thanks.” </p><p>The group walks the rest of the way back to the rental center. Kiyoomi has his arm slung over Wakatoshi’s shoulder, because damn, walking on a hurt leg with the wind knocked out of his lungs is a lot more tiring than he anticipated. Even worse, he <em> didn’t </em> anticipate it. He prepared, he watched, he was so <em> careful </em>. And yet. </p><p>He thinks about what he’d be doing now if he’d stayed home. About Wakatoshi’s arm still on his waist, holding him up, holding them as close together as possible. About his unrelenting grasp on him. About Shouyou wheeling both his and Kiyoomi’s bicycles beside him, stealing quick glances of concern here and there. </p><p>About the stars. </p><p>
  <em> How do you know the stars can hear you? Or if they care about your wishes? </em>
</p><p>And yet. </p><p>“Omi-san,” Shouyou says in the quietest voice Kiyoomi’s ever heard from him, “did you still have fun?” </p><p>Kiyoomi stops, leaning on his uninjured leg. Wakatoshi stops with him, watching both Kiyoomi and Shouyou. There’s worry written all over their faces. He lets out a deep exhale. </p><p>“Hinata-san.” Kiyoomi places a hand on Shouyou’s shoulder. “I wouldn’t have come if I didn’t think I was going to enjoy it.”</p>
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